


Nobility

by mylordshesacactus



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, C U R S E D, Cursed content, Gen, Mirror Universe, abuse of state power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23602378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylordshesacactus/pseuds/mylordshesacactus
Summary: Bloody riots and military thefts in Mantle mean long, grueling nights on both sides, but the Mantle protesters' sympathy for overworked Atlesians is limited. They have enough on their plate already, and that's even before the stress of an unexpected, disarmingly casual interview with Ironwood's elite right hand:Ace Operatives Captain Robyn Hill.
Comments: 48
Kudos: 60





	Nobility

**Author's Note:**

> Someone made art of Robyn wearing Atlas colors and it was the worst thing I've ever seen (I mean, the edit was fantastic, it was only horrifying on an EXISTENTIAL level) and my brain wouldn't let go of it and now here we are, with the most cursed content in the history of the world.
> 
> I can't even drag Alex for enabling me because this was all me and she's just been staring in increasing horror while yelling "I HATE IT AND I AM NOT AFFILIATED WITH THIS" the whole time.

It had to have been hours by the time the door finally opened.

It was less of a relief than he’d expected.

Look, this wasn’t the first time he’d been arrested, okay? Or, you know, the second or the third. He knew the drill. They had nothing solid on him, he’d be processed and they’d issue some empty threats and send him home again. At worst, they could hold him for three days, and he’d made arrangements for that anyway.

But the woman who stepped into the dark interrogation room wasn’t another irritated, overworked Atlas goon. The uniform was sleeker, brighter, with scarlet accents; she moved differently, the custom weapon strapped to a wrist gauntlet glinted with deadly steel and chrome under the harsh light. And Soren was _damn_ sure he’d been too careful to bring the fucking AceOps down on him.

She flashed him a disarming smile as she closed the door behind her, tossing an overcoat casually across the back of her chair.

“My apologies for the delay,” she greeted him, voice friendly. “I realize you’ve been kept waiting. Unfortunately we’re a bit overworked at the moment, and I was caught up with an interrogation. I had to prioritize that; a real, active threat to Mantle is a lot more urgent than a decent man who’s just trying to get by. I’ll try to make this as quick as possible so you can get home.”

Soren watched her, wary. It wasn’t exactly the most subtle good-cop routine in the world, but did AceOps even bother with that kind of thing?

Before he could open his mouth to ask, she dropped into her seat and offered a handshake. Cautiously, Soren accepted it. Lilac eyes softened slightly as she squeezed—enough to be firm and comforting, but not enough to turn into a pissing contest.

“It’s Gamboge, isn’t it?” she asked. “Soren?”

Soren tried to politely pull his hand back, but couldn’t; the woman placed her left hand over his wrist and turned their clasped hands over, so that his rested palm-down on top of hers, her free hand holding it gently in place.

It was weird, but not worth starting a fight over, so he left it for now.

“If you don’t know who I am, maybe you shouldn’t have arrested me,” he tossed back.

To his surprise, instead of bristling, she laughed.

“Fair enough.” Aura flared faintly between them, pale purple, almost white; it was a _very_ weird sensation, Soren never having had an activated aura himself. He could actually feel the bruises around his wrists healing slightly as a side effect. He tried again to pull his hand back; this time, when the AceOp’s left hand squeezed his wrist, she also raised an eyebrow in a silent, politely firm warning not to do it again.

“What…”

She smiled, reassuring if it wasn’t for the context. “It’s all right. I just need to talk to you for a few minutes so I can put it in my report. If you’re not Soren Gamboge, this is a great time to say so.”

Maybe she was trying to clue him in to something? “Um...I’m not?” Soren tried. 

The Aura between them flashed bright red, and the woman’s lips twitched. “Very funny, Soren. And you definitely weren’t anywhere near the Sector Nineteen riots tonight, either, I assume.”

Heart rate starting to rise in his ears, Soren said the only thing he could. “No, I wasn’t.”

Another red flash. The woman arched an eyebrow and didn't move.

“You can’t prove anything,” Soren insisted, suddenly wondering whether that was true. There was no red, so maybe he was just imagining things.

“Easy,” she said. “I know _you’re_ not the problem here. What we really want to know is what idiot threw that first brick.”

“I don’t know,” Soren said honestly. There was a flare of emerald light. “And what do you mean _first?_ That was _after_ Atlas forces brought out nightsticks.” 

The light turned green again. The AceOp sat forward.

“You were that close?”

Fuck. “No,” he said hastily. “Listen, I don’t know anything.” Red again.

A conspiratorial grin. “I’m sure you know _some_ things. Water’s wet, the sky is up.” Soren didn’t smile. “And I think we both know Max Mulberry didn’t intend for that protest to turn violent, did she?”

“I don’t know who that is,” Soren insisted. Red. 

“Mmm.” The woman fixed him with a hard look. “You know, lying in a military statement like this is actually a much more serious crime than just being part of a subversive organization that hasn’t been declared dangerous yet. How about we both pretend we didn’t notice that? I really want to see you go home tonight, Soren.”

 _“Subversive_ is a little much,” he protested. Green.

“Really?” She sat forward, head tilted slightly, the picture of polite interest. The fact that he knew it was a sham didn’t make him immune. “Can you tell me anything more specific?”

Alarms blared in the back of his head. “I don’t know what you mean.” Green.

“Right, of course.” Her response was gracious. “What are your goals?”

That...seemed safe enough, that kind of thing was public knowledge anyway.

“Atlas needs to enforce its regulations about open faunus discrimination in Mantle, and investigate misappropriation of funds and resources,” Soren recited.

Another soft smile. “That seems like a noble goal. Is there a way we can reach out to the organizers to work with them?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Of course not. But you know when and where the regular planning meetings are held.”

His heart skipped a beat. “I’m not part of the planning committee.” Green.

“That’s not what I asked, Soren.”

“No,” he lied, to a flare of red. “I don’t know anything about planning meetings.”

The woman sighed. “I was hoping this would be a short night. We’re preparing a raid on a house in the southeastern quadrant, but if it’s not connected to these riots then it’s a case of mistaken identity. Is that your planning committee, or do we have crosshairs on innocent people?”

She was lying, probably, but—

“No,” Soren grated out. “They’re not anywhere in the southeastern quadrant.”

“Thank you, Soren.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Do you know anything more specific?”

* * *

Robyn leaned back against the wall and groaned.

Clover squeezed her shoulder with a sympathetic wince. “Long night.” He took the scribbled list of addresses held in the general direction of his voice. “And it’s only gonna get worse before it gets better.”

Rubbing her face, Robyn accepted his offer of a glass of cold water. “The decent ones are always harder,” she admitted. “I get where they’re coming from, they’re just...misguided. The last thing Mantle needs right now is more chaos.”

Clover squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, we can do this. We’re helping Mantle. We’re helping all of Remnant, even!”

Robyn rolled her eyes, pushing him off with a tired grin. “Yeah, yeah, poster boy. You can spare me the pep talk, I’m your boss. And speaking of which, if you see Ironwood, tell him—”

“Right behind you, Robyn,” Clover cut in.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Tell him to schedule these things better, I’ve been running my Semblance for hours without a break and if he keeps putting raids on top of raids every other night I’m gonna take that gravity pistol and shove it—”

“As creative as I know you can be,” Ironwood interrupted her, sounding indecently amused, “I think we can all imagine the end of that sentence for ourselves.”

“Tried to warn you,” muttered Clover.

“So far up your ass your grandchildren can taste the Dust,” Robyn finished cheerfully. “Evening, General. I bought you a _calendar_ for the Solstice, didn’t I?”

Ironwood hid a smile. “You know, Robyn, I _was_ actually coming down to tell you to take tomorrow off. All of a sudden I have this strange urge to tell you all about the paperwork I need filed that I was going to give to Vine.”

“I’ve never criticized you in my life and I wouldn’t dream of it,” Robyn informed him without missing a beat.

Ironwood rolled his eyes. “Get some rest.”

Robyn handed Clover the water glass back. “I will, General. I just have one last interview to finish.”

* * *

Robyn was _always_ a consummate professional; but some interrogations needed more delicacy than others, and this was one she just couldn’t afford to fail. She couldn’t make mistakes, not this time.

She was careful not to rush, adjusting her gear before letting herself back into the room. Robyn wasn’t at all surprised when the subject she’d left cuffed to the table jerked awake at the sound of the door opening; she’d been here for too long not to be exhausted.

Moving quietly so as not to jar her any worse, Robyn dimmed the overhead light and raised the temperature of the room by five degrees; they normally kept them cold, taking advantage of the warmth of AceOp uniforms, but after this long the chill would be miserable. When she finally sat down across the steel table, she made eye contact for the first time.

“It’s been a while,” she said softly.

Fiona glared.

“Hey,” Robyn told her, offering a small smile. “It's okay. Don't worry, I'm going to help you get out of this.”

Fiona, ears pinned back, turned away to glare at the wall instead.

Robyn sighed.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been given the silent treatment. Her old, semi-official team had broken off one by one over the past few years. Inevitably, as captain of the AceOps, she’d run into the local band of rogue Huntresses every so often. Even more inevitably, they’d all been arrested at least once.

May had started out exactly like this, the cold shoulder and the stubborn refusal of eye contact; when Robyn eventually got her talking it hadn’t been productive, just a rehashing of old arguments and a desperate, tearful plea for Robyn to just come home. And an attempt at her weapon that Robyn had, for old times' sake, not reported.

Joanna had held the stonewalling until the end. Hadn’t even been willing to confirm her name for the record, when Robyn sarcastically asked for it.

But Fiona—hurt, if not more than the others, then in an entirely new dimension.

They’d learned after Joanna, with prisoners who knew Robyn’s Semblance. She hadn’t been willing to uncross her arms, and Robyn didn’t have the heart to make her. May had ended up gripping Robyn’s hand between her own by the end, but the general policy these days was to take the onus of convincing people off Robyn’s head. Fiona, mostly unrestrained, had her right hand cuffed tight to the table within easy reach.

Robyn didn’t reach for it, not yet. 

She let the silence ring, taking in every detail of what little of Fiona’s face she could see. She looked thin, paler than usual—but that could just be the light. There were bags under her eyes, again possibly just due to the fact that she’d been arrested and hadn’t slept in at least twenty-four hours.

Finally, Robyn gave a tired sigh.

“Oh, lambchop,” she breathed.

Fiona tensed, ears twitching violently as her shoulders crept up around her ears. Finally, Robyn reached out to press against her fingers. She did not—yet—activate her semblance.

“You’ve always been too brave for your own good, Fiona,” she murmured. “Please help me. What do you think is going to happen here if I can't prove to the military that you're only trying to help people? Who will that save? I'm not asking you to betray anyone. Just tell me where you're delivering those stolen supplies."

Fiona squeezed her eyes shut and gave a short, sharp shake of her head.

Robyn waited, and decided not to push yet.

“How’s May?” she asked instead. “She was in bad shape the last time I saw her. Those looked like Sabyr claws.”

“None of your business,” Fiona snapped.

It was the first thing she’d said all night. Encouraged but careful not to show it, Robyn sat forward.

“I’ve missed you, you know.”

Fiona’s glare was poison. “Whose fault is that?” she demanded. “You obviously know where I live!”

Robyn took proper hold of Fiona’s hand, as gently as she could, and activated her Semblance. “I don’t know who’s receiving all the supplies you keep stealing from the military.”

Fiona pinned her ears. “I’m not answering that.”

Green. She knew better than to try to talk her way around pretending she _wasn’t_ stealing from the military.

Robyn kept her voice gentle. "Why not?"

"You'll twist it." Green.

"Twist it how?"

Fiona flushed as she realized she’d been lured into a conversation. "Shut up!"

"Lambchop..."

 _"Stop_ it, Robyn. You don't get to call me that anymore. I hate it." Green. "I hate you _so much."_

Red.

Robyn’s heart ached, as she let the lie fill the room and watched the flare of scarlet fade back to white. Fiona, when she glanced up at her face, looked stricken. After a long pause, Robyn let her Semblance fade entirely.

“Fiona,” she said, voice quiet in the echoey interrogation chamber. “You have to realize that having you tell me this is just a formality.”

Fiona settled more firmly back in her chair, tugging petulantly at her cuff.

"We already know your contact,” Robyn told her, not bothering to keep the pity from her voice. “We put time-activated trackers in that last shipment, that hideout is already surrounded."

Fiona looked up in shock, eyes wide and fearful; after a split second she caught herself, settling back into a distrustful scowl.

“I don’t know that,” she retorted.

Robyn sighed. "It's the truth. I'm trying to give you a chance at a more lenient sentence. Your contacts are done for, there's nothing I can do, but not naming names doesn't help them anymore. If you confirm their identities of your own free will, I can get you off lightly."

"That's noble of you." Fiona’s eyes hardened. Lifting her chin, she turned away and continued staring defiantly at a blank wall.

Tenderly, using only enough force to make her point and no more, Robyn reached out and turned Fiona’s chin back toward her.

“Fiona,” she said. Aura flared as she ran a thumb across Fiona’s cheek. “I need you to tell me where those supplies are going.”

Unable to turn away, Fiona squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn’t enough to keep Robyn from noticing the tears.

Robyn closed her eyes and sighed again.

“I am not looking forward to the ass-chewing I'll get if Ironwood finds out I said this,” she muttered. “But...I'm proud of you, Fiona."

Fiona’s eyes flew open. "I don't want _you_ to be proud of me!" 

Red.

"...That means a lot to me, you know.” Robyn let herself smile. “Thank you."

"Stop talking!"

"I mean it.” Fiona jerked at her bonds again; Robyn let her. “No one ever took you seriously, and that was their mistake. I always knew you could do anything you set your mind to; I'm not surprised you got this far. I just wish you'd found better opportunities.”

She’d been scouted as a partner for May, initially. The ultimate black-ops team, moving massive amounts of resources in complete secrecy with little to no chance of violence breaking out. But once May left, it wasn’t a surprise that Ironwood hadn’t put nearly the same amount of effort into keeping Fiona. Robyn had disagreed at the time; but without the secrecy factor, he hadn’t seen the value in keeping her on-side to continue secure deliveries in plain sight.

Robyn stroked her cheek again, voice low. “I'm sorry, Fiona. I should have fought harder for you. The White Fang don't deserve to be what gets you killed someday."

"I'm not working with the White Fang!” The protest came quickly, tinged with fear; the Fang remained officially disbanded by Council decree, but everyone knew there were pockets remaining. Until now, the military hadn’t made any real attempt to wipe them out so long as they remained simple protest groups. If they were directly connected to theft of military property… “They have nothing to do with this!" 

Green.

Robyn gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Knowing there's another organized group is valuable enough that I may be able to get you a good plea deal."

"Wh—no! I didn't say that!" Red. “I could still be working alone!” Red again.

It was obscene to even ask it, but they had to know, just in case. “I’ll make sure Salem knows that,” she hedged. “If you haven’t spoken to her already.”

Fiona glared, but there was no sudden tension or wariness at the name. “Who the hell is Salem? I don’t care that much about any of these people’s names.”

Robyn stood. She’d gotten enough for one night; it wouldn’t be too hard, from here, to start investigating whoever the new player on the board was.

“Get some sleep,” she ordered, as if Fiona was still one of her own. “We’ll talk in two days and figure out your options for getting out of here. If you ever need me, the guards know where my office is."

"Robyn, _don't!"_ Fiona scrambled to her feet, as best she could with one arm strapped to the table. “If you stop this—people are _going_ to die, Robyn, they _need_ us! _I know you still care about Mantle!”_

Robyn froze halfway out the door. She took a deep breath, closed it carefully, and sat back down.

There was a wild, desperate hope in Fiona’s eyes as Robyn uncuffed her hand, rubbing away the marks left by the restraints.

“All right,” Robyn told her, the glow of her Aura illuminating a gentle smile. “Can you tell me anything more specific?”


End file.
